We Were There

Four engaging, talented actors tell stories of the experience of women and AIDS - from before the condition even had a name, let alone any treatment.  They tell of bafflement and fear, of ignorance, misdiagnosis, prejudice, rejection (including by families), misinformation, euphemisms, evasions, physical and mental suffering, and shame.  But there is also resilience, kindness, love, acceptance, unstinting efforts to find a cure – or at least amelioration – and the formation of support groups and communities of sufferers and carers. 

The playwright, Dirk Hoult, thought it was about time the usual emphasis on men’s experience was corrected.  We Where There is the result.  It’s so-called ‘verbatim theatre’ – that is, Mr Hoult has interviewed women who ‘were there’ (and some were in the audience on opening night) and found written statements and he has culled and selected and shaped to make his play.  The testimony comes from carers, volunteers, nurses, doctors, wives, family members and sufferers – including that of the first woman ‘officially’ diagnosed with this weird, scary thing – and who desperately wanted to stay alive just long enough to be a grandmother.  Some incidents and experiences are horrific, but the telling does not become sensational, maudlin or lapse into self-pity.  The anecdotes of medical staff, indeed, are briskly matter-of-fact – as those people must be, of course, to function.  The cast tell the stories with humour, often with a sort of incredulity (‘Can you believe it?’) and a keen sense of irony.

In casting Leah Baulch, Perri Cummings, Jodie Le Vesconte and Olivia Monticciolo, Mr Hoult has made effective choices; they are so different in manner, appearance and mode of performance.  Their voices weave together, joining and separating.  At times, it’s true, the words become a bit faux poetic and the performances follow and become a little ‘actor-ish’; then the natural, conversational tone of the reminiscences is lost for a moment.  For the most part, however, the women find light and shade in their text, even if they don’t always overcome the problem of transitioning between testimonies or distinguishing one ‘witness’ from another.  Nevertheless, their delivery gives us intensity, tenderness and rueful remembering.

Alex Hiller supplies a suggestive, near surreal stage design: a huge, distorted white package, criss-crossed with cords – mysterious and threatening – possibly too mysterious and too threatening: it’s a distraction.  Jason Boraid’s lighting provides mood and rather clunky transitions, and Connor Ross’ sound design is unobtrusive while enhancing the text.  Mr Hoult, meanwhile, gives his actors plenty of movement – grouping, re-grouping, moving and removing chairs – at times for no discernible reason, but avoiding what could be a static experience for the audience.  The show is most effective and the most like ‘theatre’ (in the accepted sense) when the various ‘characters’ appear to interact, sharing experiences and reflections – which didn’t happen in real life, but which suggests so strongly the bonds that form between women, especially when outsiders just don’t get it.

We Were There, perhaps inevitably, at times falls into the trap of the too obviously ‘important’ or worthy, and then it sounds like a lecture or a Department of Health pamphlet.  But the cast carries us past those moments and, after all, the subject is important.  The more so since – as one character says with amazed incomprehension - HIV and AIDS are still with us, despite all the accumulated knowledge, experience and warnings.

Michael Brindley

Images: Daniel Burke Photography.